


Zenith of Harmony

by twinkstimulator



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games), Bloodborne (Video Game), Devil May Cry
Genre: Body Horror, Dark Fantasy, Devil May Cry 5 Timeline, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/M, Horror, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, William Blake - Freeform, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24218164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkstimulator/pseuds/twinkstimulator
Summary: A disciple of a dead god and a vagabond with his demonic familiars meet amongst the rubble of ruined Red Grave.An exercise in body horror, dark romanticism, and Hegelian aesthetics. Inspired by open-ended Bloodborne lore and William Blake's mythology.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader, V (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 45





	Zenith of Harmony

**Author's Note:**

> WHERE READER AND V ARE INTRODUCED, ALONE, AND THEN TOGETHER.

_“If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is: Infinite.”_

\- William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (Plate 14)

* * *

**_8 June, 06:03pm, Red Grave [00:46:55]_ **

He’s following you again.

You can feel him trailing behind you. Just out of sight, always out of reach. His stark shadow stretches down the red street, joining you on a leisurely stroll. 

You don’t know what he wants, or even why he’s been following you through this hellscape of a city. Seemingly the last two souls left on Earth, wandering alone and together through this wasteland.

Every once in a while he’ll come a little closer - appearing in your periphery, tall and willowy, behind upturned cars and destroyed street signs, plodding along with his little cane. Sometimes you wouldn’t even see him for days on end, and you would think that he’s finally gone for good. That he had either gotten bored and left, or got picked off - eaten by those _things_ \- but, he always finds his way back to you.

The man in black. Always tailing behind. Always following.

The smell of rotting fruit and sulphur permeates the muggy evening air, wafting up your nostrils. A gust of wind blows, chilling the drying sweat on your neck. You shudder, tightening your robes. 

_Fuck this place._

The cold, white sun looms huge over the edge of the horizon, pulling along the blood red blanket of sunset. The levelled cityscape stretches on as far as your eyes can see, while bodies litter the streets - dried out husks crumbling apart, arms reaching towards their loved ones, horrified screams permanently etched on their faces. 

Further along the skyline, closer towards the epicentre, the giant, twisting - _pulsating_ \- veins of the black tree reach toward the heavens. The tree towers over everything else - what remains of Red Grave - eerily silent and swaying softly in the wind. 

It juts out from the terrain of the city, a monstrous boil bloating with blood and pus, uprooting skyscrapers and historical sites. Its many cavernous, vacillating pores swallowing up all light in its vicinity - akin to a colossal lotus pod. 

The roots have spread through most of the city and the inner-city suburbs, stretching out towards the urban fringes, bordering on countryside; they would have picked off any, if not all, survivors by now.

To think that all of this was caused by that thing. Its throbbing roots, swollen with gore, interweaving through subways and pipelines. Demons spawning across town left and right, cackling and screeching, itching for the hunt. All this carnage and death, for something as dispassionate as sustenance for the black tree. Life for life.

You pick off a strangely moist clump of grey _something_ from your hair, grossed out.

Your GPS sits heavy in your pocket, silent and useless. The calamity must have reached farther than you thought if it’s managed to affect cell towers and satellites. Or maybe the tree is displacing radio signals - you wouldn’t be surprised. You should have grabbed another map off of Enzo before you left.

The timer on your watch burns neon blue, beeping incessantly. Not even an hour left. The safehouse is on the other side of town. 

“Aah - shit,” 

Your eyes dart across the street. Sheathing your weapon by your hip, you round the corner, heaving a weary sigh.

Maybe this way, you could lose him.

* * *

He grips the handle of his cane tighter, palm rubbing raw against the worn metal. The engravings had worn down over time - leaving a smoothed out impression of what it used to be. It always felt cold to the touch no matter how long he’d held onto it. 

Even with what little demonic energy he has left, he can still feel the item’s presence - even idle, it demands his attention.

He can’t bring himself to wonder at it, a cane of all things, imbued with demonic properties; it helped him enough to get him to where he is now but, thinking too long on how this cane must have ended up in the human world gives him too many unpalatable ideas.

But then again …

V gazes out through the expanse of Red Grave, at the giant, twisting branches of the Qliphoth tree stretching up from where it erupted in the central business district. One of its main roots has cleaved through another state building, he can see it worming through the third and fourth floor windows. 

It mocks him and yet, at the same time - he knows that if the Qliphoth could speak it would not speak to him.

V heaves a tense sigh. 

No. There’s no time for that anymore.

He walks on. The tap, tap, tap of his cane on the ruptured gravel acting as a steady metronome for his mind to latch onto. He tries to keep the cane somewhat steady, eyes fixating on the ground in case of any debris that would catch on its trajectory.

V scrubs a hand down his face, squinting his burning eyes. Sweat slides down his back, trapped beneath black leather, pasting the heavy fabric to his skin. He tries to ignore his stomach rumbling at him. 

The cold, white sun looms huge over the edge of the horizon, peeking through the bisected ruins of an old museum. Black roots weave and worm their way through the city infrastructure, what remains of Red Grave crumbles beneath their bloated heft. The stench of death hangs in the air like an overcast - the underlying waves of nausea that have plagued him since his arrival seem endless among all of this rot. 

A tiny stone manages to wedge itself inside his sandals. V tuts, trying to shake it out while he walks. He ends up waddling a little for his trouble, and despite himself he still feels a little silly.

**_Ya alright there, Shakespeare? Don’t tell me a little cardio is all it takes to wear you thin. Well, a little too late for that now!_ **

Griffon cackles from beneath his skin.

_Shush._

Even silent, he swears he feels Shadow purring in response, a dense rumbling just above his heart. Disbelieving. 

V trudges on, stone in his sandal and all, as he follows the survivor he found wandering Red Grave. He makes sure to keep the saffron yellow of your robe in the corner of his eye, keeping a few paces behind you. V sticks to the sides, by the entrances of alleyways, curious but wary, eyeing the strange weapon holstered by your hip.

He still hasn’t quite figured out what your business is in Red Grave. You walk with a calculated step, treading through the decimated landscape, seemingly undeterred by the bodies littered throughout the city as you continue on your unknown quest. Your hand is steady on the hilt of your weapon, eyes sharp, nose pinched between your thumb and forefinger. 

You fight off the demons sniffing out your human blood, spawning at almost every corner, with the confidence of a practiced professional.

So, possibly another hunter then. Another hunter in the streets of Red Grave. The question then becomes … why?

Why were you here? Who were you looking for?

The blades of your strange sword glint against the blistering sunlight, blinding him for a moment. It blows out his vision, burning an ever-shifting white spot in the middle of his eye-line. He tries to ignore it, blinking it away.

A dust cloud blows from the east, carrying with it the phantom memory of blood and ash. It sticks to his tongue, making a home in the back of his throat. He doesn’t have it in him anymore to puke.

His knees are wobbling with every step by the time he lets up.

V sighs, stooping down to sit against an abandoned storefront, an old toy store upon first glance - ransacked and abandoned during the evacuations. Just up ahead of him, he spots you - reclined on the driver’s seat of a broken down truck in the middle of the road, fiddling with a little handheld device in your hands - booted feet idly kicking against the footboard. 

The doors on the truck are missing. They look to have been ripped off of the main body, leaving behind yawning craters in the steel frame. The windshield and windows have been smashed in, the glass shards glittering on the gravel and catching his eye. Possibly demons. Possibly humans. 

His mind races at the sight. Looters, other survivors, left behind - left to fend for themselves. Around him lie more evidence of the calamity’s effects on the city’s populace, wordless testimonies of people pushed to their limits, desperate and afraid.

He stops his train of thought before it could go any further. The brick wall digs into his lower back. He wheezes, hand balling up tight.

_It’s the 8_ _th_ _of June._

V runs it over in his head again. Once. Twice. Then three more times for good measure. 

He slowly guides his fist to unclench, one finger at a time, stretching his hand wide open. His fingernails had dug little red crescents into his palm. His back aches. He pays it no mind.

_It’s the 8_ _th_ _of June._

Just under a week left. He hopes it’s enough. 

**_Hey! V! Ya itchin’ for somethin’?_ **

He can feel Griffon’s wings shuffling about by his shoulders and Shadow’s tail coiling around his waist. Even Nightmare, silent and amorphous as it is, is shifting its weight on the back of his neck, on the closest equivalent it has to feet. They’re all just as eager, it seems.

**_Whad’dya need miss thang for anyway?_ **

His lip quirks at the nickname. A fly starts to buzz around his face, bumping against his cheeks. He swats it away.

_I’m entertaining the possibility that she is another devil hunter roaming the area. She could be of use._

**_You ain’t just try’na make excuses on me, right V? Even I know you ain’t desperate enough to chase after some skirt in a time like this._ **

Griffon guffaws, a puff of air brushes against V’s collarbone as he does so. His nose wrinkles. The fly is back, buzzing again by his temples.

_Don’t be disgusting. Think about it. She doesn’t appear to have been left behind. If she is just another person trying to ransack what she can, then getting through the city barricades would be grossly impractical. I doubt a regular human would even have reason to be here at all, much less want to stay._

_If she is another hunter, well then … that changes some things._

A moment passes. Nightmare grumbles as the fly continues to bump against V’s temples. For a second, Griffon thinks V might have fallen asleep on him.

**_‘Ey, ‘ey now Shakespeare! I’m gonna need ya to be a bit more specific. A whole month spent with you - more than attached at the hip, might I add! - ain’t enough time to get the hang of your whole cryptic schtick!_ **

V huffs a chuckle under his breath, idly twisting the ring on his finger.

_What I’m trying to say is… she could be of use. Nothing more. I’d rather keep an eye out._

**_Doing all this, just to ‘keep an eye out’ for when she - maybe - becomes useful?_ **

_No. Of her possibly getting in the way._

_Dante is still missing, after all._

His chest tightens. V tries not to think about the reason why. He swats at the fly with a little more aggression, hoping it would get his message.

**_… You seriously think she’s after Dante?_ **

_An improbable likelihood, but a likelihood nonetheless._

**_But what if she isn’t? And maybe the girlie is just lookin’ for something? And you’re just acting paranoid and making excuses on me cause you’re lonely and wanna follow some chic-_ **

_Stop getting ideas. If she’s willing to risk getting killed by demons for something, then it’s possibly something that can be of use to us._

**_Oh. So you’re just gonna use the little lady? Is that it?_ **

V doesn’t respond, sucking his teeth. He taps his fingers idly against his knee, the steady metronome lulling his racing thoughts.

Squawking, Griffon puffs up, phantom feathers roughly brushing on V’s shoulders.

**_Well now, aren’t you a man of chivalry!_ **

V scoffs.

**_Besides, if you were actually planning on joinin’ her window shopping, and keeping an eye out ‘for the possibility’ - as you said - then you should have noticed by now that miss thang ain’t even there anymore!_ **

At this, V’s head shoots up. He squints, peering into the distance, and sure enough the truck in the middle of the road sat empty. 

The fly buzzes into him again. He cracks the bug against his bicep. It leaves a giant red imprint behind, his skin tingles with a dull, warm pain.

_Well, shit._

* * *

**_[00:30:24]_ **

Staring down the end of this particular desolate street should not be as worrying as it is.

The GPS had started working again for a little while - before the screen zipped black again - but, the street in front of you is unfamiliar. It looks as if you’ve moved even deeper towards the centre of the city. You should’ve figured that the tree could mess with GPS signals.

He should be gone by now, at least. You hadn’t felt him following you in a while. Thank fuck.

The timer on your watch sounds out urgently, three quick beeps vibrating by your wrist. Half an hour left. What little light remains in the sky is a deep bloody red, trailed by a rich purple spill - the last dregs of sunset. The wind picks up, blowing a heavy breeze that billows your robes by your sides, staggering you forward. Your stomach sinks. 

This looks bad.

You’ll have to find a spot to ride out the crash.

Taking an unsteady breath, cold air settling into your lungs, you steel yourself before pushing on. Your eyes peer down the street, across abandoned cafes and ransacked storefronts, looking for a place that looks somewhat secure. Hand idly resting on the handle of your sword, just in case.

Your eyes start to water from the cool evening air. The street is silent save for the steady thudding of your steps. Rows upon rows of empty buildings stare you down as you amble through the abandoned avenue. The many cavernous black windows threaten to swallow you whole. You half expect someone to be watching you from one of them. You’re half-inclined to look. 

Boots crunching on leaves and loose gravel, goosebumps pebble your skin with every passing step. Every breath comes out more and more shaky, more uneven.

The air is thinning. The black tree towers above in the distance, far away and yet, still too close for comfort. Its branches reach toward the sky, and you imagine for a second that it's grabbing at the stars, stealing their light to plunge Red Grave into eternal night. 

The sky darkens by the second, the harsh white light of street lamps starting to flicker on. You squint, shielding your eyes. 

A soda can clinks against your boot. A shot of bright red against the upturned gravel road. Empty. You crush it beneath your foot before kicking it away. 

It lands on a dark puddle a few feet ahead, sinking thick and heaving into the liquid.

The stench of sulphur spikes.

Pools of black start to bubble and spread on the ground around you, a cloying heat settling thick on your skin. The cackling hits you first. They’re always cackling.

You clutch your sword, thumb wavering over the splitting mechanism. The nauseating scent gets stronger. There’s more of them now, more than they usually come. 

They’re all the same, possibly part of some species of demonic fauna. Insectoid, but barely. You can make out three vaguely human skulls fused together to form its enormous cranium, with glowing red impressions of eyes set inside of hollow sockets; a humanoid jaw set with rotten teeth and black gums between two giant, dribbling mandibles.

Charging forward, you pierce the blade of your sword through the body of one creature, its warm blood spewing at your face as it deafeningly screeches. You dig in your blade and pull downwards through organs and tendons as it collapses, disintegrating into ash. 

They’re gangly and unwieldy, top-heavy with a pair of tiny wings that look to be there more for balance than for actual flight. Leathery, grey skin pulling over the image of muscle and tendon. A ladder of vertebrae runs down its back, ending in little black - seemingly vestigial - pincers. Their little pudgy bellies swell with blood - you shudder at the memory of it spraying across your face.

You catch another as you turn around, embedding the entire blade down into its oddly engorged head, the oily fluid that spurts out of the wound catches on your eyelashes. It screams and tries to fly away but you wedge the blade deeper and rend it through, lopping the head in half down the middle. The damp heat expelling from the gash makes you want to gag. The thing still screams at you as it crumbles into dust.

You skewer another demon in the belly, wrenching your blade through gore and viscera before going for another. It’s oddly rhythmic at this point - stab, pull, stab, pull, stab, pull - as if you could take yourself out of the severity of the situation if you could fall back into basic sword training exercises.

Except no matter how hard you try, you can’t, your trembling grip on your weapon is keeping you off balance, making your movements messy, heavy, and inefficient. You’re nearly coated in innards and questionable fluids, and in your desperation to get yourself out of this mess you barely have the energy to care. 

A searing pain rips down your shoulder. 

Staggering backwards, you scream behind grit teeth, eyes burning hot with unshed tears. Panting, clutching onto your shoulder, you look to check the damage - a deep gouge, in the space between your joints. It’s torn through muscle. You can just barely see the pale white of your bones buried beneath all the red.

The huile should be clearing your blood soon. You can feel the last dregs of it pushing your body to stitch skin and tissue, forcing white blood cells to attack faster than it feasibly should. It’s a blistering itch, bubbling and foaming with watery pus. You want to dig your nails deep into the gash and scratch it just to get rid of the distraction.

But, you can’t. They keep coming.

The horde isn’t clearing. Their skittering feet echoing in waves upon waves in your head. Your ears are ringing. Panting heavy, you split your sword in two. There isn’t much time left.

You pull your blades out of one before any of them could get any closer, and ram it through another’s mouth, slicing down through its chest. Trying to grit through the piercing sensation that comes with the unwanted movement. You skewer another one on your other side, slashing off its head.

There’s a lull in the fight. An opening.

You want to leave. You need to leave. You’re at your limit, and any minute now the crash will hit. But if you run, who’s to say that wherever you run off to is safer than here? Safe enough to rest? Will you even make it?

Around you, the sky darkens, the sun sinking ever slowly down towards the horizon. It’ll be night any moment now. The creatures pull closer, surrounding you, flooding your field of vision.

You look down at your thigh holster, eyeing another vial.

* * *

Something’s wrong.

He can hear his blood roaring in his ears. It feels like the air has thinned out around him.

The road in front of him is empty, save for all the destruction and debris of a city uprooted, quite literally, in a matter of minutes. The last dregs of sunset stretch across the sky in bloody reds and deep violets. The muggy mid-summer heat is settling into a cooler, though still somewhat humid, evening chill. 

The survivor he’d been following is gone. 

Now, _why_ that fact made his stomach sink, he has no idea.

**_Yeah, V! Ya seem a lot more upset over this than I would’ve thought, ya did say the girlie didn’t mean much to ya._ **

Griffon snarks at him. Shadow, as lax as the creature normally is when not in combat, is especially silent. As if the creature is watching him, also waiting for his response.

V sighs instead.

_I’d rather not have all of my energy wasted for nothing._

**_Ah well. Ya still gonna go and find her?_ **

V tuts; is he?

He’d first seen you a little over a week ago, just a minute flicker of gold flitting on the edge of his vision, cutting through the rusted blood and decay of the city. 

Just out of sight, always out of reach. 

Your movements throughout Red Grave were clearly thought out, methodical and calculated; you never backtracked, or kept in the same area for longer than half a day; yet he never figured out exactly what, or _who_ , you were in Red Grave for. You would sometimes disappear completely, leaving no trace or hint behind as to where you were, and he would think that - it’s finally happened - you were gone. Picked off by one too many demons or, had gotten cleaved through by a Qliphoth root. 

He tries not to think about that too often.

And yet, inevitably, he would find you again. Right as rain, your saffron robe billowing in the wind as you travelled through Red Grave on your unknown mission. Eyes alert, at the ready, always just a few steps ahead of him.

V stops his train of thought, his feet coming to a halt in the middle of the street. 

Did you know about him? 

His eyes drift to a pothole just a ways ahead of him, a broken water pipe splashes water up onto upturned gravel, darkening the ground around it like a spill of blood. Little by little, the street lamps around him start turning on, spotlighting him - the harsh white fluorescent light makes him squint. He gulps.

No, you couldn’t possibly have.

His stomach churns. He can’t shake the niggling feeling that this is different somehow. 

It wouldn’t affect him much either way, whether or not to keep looking for you. You’re just as likely to disappear further down the line, and then eventually you’ll be gone for good, and he wouldn’t know when, where, or how you would disappear. He still has some time before he meets with Nero. He should be focusing on making some last minute preparations at least.

The Qliphoth towers in the distance, far away and yet, still too close for comfort. Its many cavernous, yawning stomata vacillate open and closed - imitating breathing. He imagines millions upon millions of eyes staring back at him from deep inside those holes, however far away the tree is, as if the tree knows what he has done. He imagines that they’re millions upon millions of mouths, gaping maws screaming and howling in the night, as if the souls of the people it has taken have been absorbed into the tree.

He can feel the edges of another migraine tingling at his brain. His head slumps forward as he lets out a frustrated sigh. Nightmare grumbles at the sudden drop, annoyed at him for doing such a thing.

There are too many things fighting for his attention, chasing away any clarity of thought. The nearby dumpster reeks of overwarm garbage, the sickly sweet smell of death lingers up and down every road and street corner, the dried out husk of a corpse peering at him by the entrance of an alleyway, the twitching lights of neon signs on the knife’s edge of blowing out.

And yet, his mind clears only at the thought of the survivor he had found. The flash of gold he’d see zip by the corner of his vision. A fleeting image, with your back turned to him, your hand steady on the hilt of your peculiar sword, flashes behind his eyes.

Eyes alert, at the ready, always just a few steps ahead of him.

Where are you?

He wonders, really, if you were gone for good.

V comes back to himself. At the pothole steadily overflowing water by his feet, at the shuddering neon signs burning light onto his retinas. At the Qliphoth in the distance, staring back at him.

He steels himself, bracing himself to walk forward on suddenly unsteady legs, leaning heavily on his cane. Every step comes easier, the tap, tap, tap on the gravel road a steady metronome echoing down the street.

V rounds the corner, the fleeting image of gold in the back of his mind.

* * *

They’re all so loud. Their screaming rings in your ears, thrumming down your spine, grating on your brain. 

Gritting your teeth, you swallow down the puke that wants to make its way up your throat. The back of your mouth burns, acrid. You pull your eyes up from your thigh holster, jerking your arm away. Forcing yourself to bear it, even for just a little longer. You’re not risking another dose. 

Sweat beads up on your skin, pasting your dirty hair to your forehead. Your chest tightens, throat closing up - it feels like your lungs are caving in. There’s too much going on; everything around you is moving too fast, overloading your mind with information. Your skin itches, clammy, too cold, too rough; you want to rip it all off.

Your nails dig deep into your palms, leaving little red crescents in your skin, budding drops of blood; it smears, spreads, on the hilt of your sword. It only seems to provoke the demons, sending them into a rage. They scream in unison, like a nightmarish choir, wretched shrieks and howls carrying the damp heat of their undead breaths across your face. 

With every kill, two seem to take its place. Every stab brings with it a heavy strain in your arms, and every pull a spray of blood. Gore spatters across your cheek, catching on your eyelashes.

  
  


Your arms ache, muscles twitching and wobbling from the strain. There’s a persistent thrumming in your head - right behind your eyes, in between your ears. Every stab, every strike, every slash gets heavier and heavier. 

They all start to blur together in your eyes. One of the creatures spits a foul acid on your face, a stinging burn sliding down your cheek. Their sickening miasma burns up your nostrils.

You tighten your grip on your swords, and more blood starts to seep down the hilt onto the blades. Fire licks across your palms, forcing your mind staggeringly back into the present. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

There’s so much screaming. So much blood. You wouldn’t be surprised if all of it is actually yours. You want to scream at them, _with_ them. But, you know deep down that if you tried, you would only manage a sob.

But there’s no time for that anymore.

The thrumming in your head gets louder, spilling over the screeching and the screams, a rumbling echo rolling through your head. A fierce heat solidifies in your hands, tingling warm as more and more of your blood seeps down your swords. Your breathing steadily slows. The steady vibrating in your head is deafening.

You jerk back into reality before it’s too late. 

Your own blood drips limply down your blades, the little scars on your palms are already healing. A second wind. You embed your blades into the demons around you, wrenching them through with a heavy pull. 

With a breath, you start to notice the upturned asphalt in the distance, the flickering neon lights, the old garbage and graffiti spilling out from between the alleyways - in the spaces between the bodies of each demonic creature.

The horde is thinning. They’re staying down this time. 

Your heart thunders in your chest, body aching from the strain. You press on. You’re not going to die in a place like this.

You slice and tear into the creatures’ bodies, form sloppy and unsteady, incensed but desperate. Lopping off swollen, sloshing heads and ripping through shrieking maws; tearing through bellies distended with blood even as you get more and more filthy with each kill. Your only thought is to get out.

The last demon disintegrates into a pillar of ash before you, and you’re left standing, panting and exhausted in the middle of this empty street, covered in gross and standing in it. There’s a persistent ache in your muscles. Exhaustion dogging your mind. 

The last stitch of skin settles into place on your shoulder. You let out a sigh of relief. Small mercies.

Your head hangs heavy on your shoulders, eyes burning with grateful tears unshed. Joining your swords together, you take shaky steps through the black gore on the loose gravel - readying yourself to find shelter once more. You scrub at the ash and oily fluid coating your arms, demon viscera sliding off of your robes.

“Well fucking done there, girlie!”

Your head shoots up, peering into the near distance. The scarlet sunlight blinds you, burning a white spot in the middle of your eye-line, morphing with every blink. Your heart sinks - your grip on your sword tightening.

_There you are._

* * *

“Jeez louise, didn’t anybody ever tell her it’s rude to stare?” Griffon grumbles, preening himself.

Goosebumps pebble his skin as a gust of wind blows past him, carrying the miasma of fresh death. V wonders whether it’s too soon, or too late.

As calm as his avian companion is perched on the crook of his arm, V is anything but. He can’t shake the feeling that this should not be happening. Not like this. 

The road is paved in blood with clumps of gore and viscera littering the ground. A razed war zone. He could even see streaks of blood staining the broken windows and storefronts of abandoned buildings, globs of grey _something_ hanging over a partially destroyed stop sign. Standing in the thick of it is the survivor he’d been trailing, staring right at him.

Your strange sword is clutched in your hand. Your eyes are sharp, searing into him, expression unreadable. You’re not surprised to see him.

His heart thunders in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. You knew he’s been following you. You’ve known all this time.

V watches you draw up to your full height, clumps of demon gore sliding off of your robes as you split the blades of your sword once more. It makes a loud _shink_ that jolts him. 

A blade in each hand, stance widening, at the ready. There’s blood on the steel still.

How long have you known about him?

His jaw tenses, grip tightening on the cool handle of his cane. Did you purposely do nothing to trap him? Was he so blinded by fascination that he didn’t realise he was being played all this time?

The sky pulls into a heavy darkness, the sun sinking heavy behind him. He watches his shadow stretch farther down the street. Even then, it seems to shy away from you. A sneer starts to settle on his face.

What are you doing? What are you waiting for?

“‘Ey! Girlie! The hell are ya starin’ at?!”

Griffon squawks, shaking out his feathers. V freezes. He watches as a look of bewilderment flashes across your face, mirroring his own.

“Wait-”

“What the fuc-”

A grating noise starts to echo down the street. Beeping - loud and alarming - repeating in threes. You startle, eyes darting down to a watch on your wrist, flashing neon blue. 

Something comes over you, shuddering over your body in paralyzing waves. Your eyes widen, breathing going ragged. Something dawns on you. 

V recognises the look immediately. He’s too familiar with the feeling not to.

Fear.

You run.

* * *

You bolt to the left, down a side street between an old convenience store and a half-destroyed smoke shop. Distantly, you swear you hear that bird thing yell out a ‘ _Hey!_ ’. You’re really starting to lose it. _What the hell is happening?_

Legs aching, you sprint across more dingy alleyways to find anything even remotely untouched by the calamity. You round the corner and in the corner of your eye, you spot a seemingly solid coffee shop. Bursting through the creaky old doors, you spot no sign of the roots breaking through walls or collapsing through the ceiling. You stride towards the back, past the counters and through the little kitchen, finding a little back room - it’s blessedly devoid of windows.

You lock the door behind you, as if it could somehow help. You scramble for anything that can potentially block off the door and buy you some time while you’re under, shoving the table and a tiny armchair up against the only entrance in the room. You block up the underside of the door with a dirty rag.

Finally, you watch as the numbers on your watch count down a minute. You lean back against the far wall - facing the door, exhausted beyond measure. You loosen your robes, bringing your knees up to your chest, hands gripping onto your weapon by your sides.

Slumping against the wall, you look down at your thigh strap at the vial of huile strapped to the holster - it’s red, shimmering liquid strangely puts you at ease. The edges of the room start to fade, blurring at the edges. You let out a sigh of relief as the numbers on your watch slowly countdown to zero.

* * *

The chill hits you first, followed by the lingering taste of the sea on your tongue.

**_Have you found them?_ **

You seize on the oily cave floor. Swallowing the acid wanting to make its way up your throat, the sour heat warms your oesophagus as your lungs fill with saltwater. Sea foam starts to bubble through your lips, leaking out of your tear ducts.

You shake your head. _No._

**_You haven’t._ **

A tentacle coils tighter around your waist in a crushing grip. You choke on a scream stuck between your grit teeth. Your goddess’s voice echoes in your head, booming in your brain.

**_My love, must I remind you that you are running out of time?_ **

You shake your head, your eyes burning.

**_You must find them. Quickly._ **

**_Find the demon who resurrected that wretched tree. And destroy them._ **

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> i've been working on this fic since november lmao, even before i got the idea for 'nine more'. i've only just gotten to the point where i'm confident enough in my writing to write this fic as i would like it to be read, wasn't too confident in my skills back then ya see
> 
> also!!! not all chapters are gonna be written like this! by this, i mean not every chapter is gonna be swinging POVs back and forth. the rest of the chapters are mostly written from the POV of one character, with maybe a single change in character POV, it's not gonna be constantly switching over the course of a chapter like this one lololololol
> 
> but yeah!! i hope you guys liked the first chapter! this is my first longfic ever and i've got most of this story already planned out so, hope ya guys liked it!
> 
> any and all feedback is appreciated 🤗
> 
> here's my [carrd](https://stimsins.carrd.co/) with my links  
> come yell at me lmao


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